Anomic Ballads or Close to comfort, photo essay by Aananda Antahleen
“Fleas interest me so much
that I let them bite me for hours.
They are perfect, ancient, Sanskrit,
machines that admit of no appeal.
They do not bite to eat,
they bite only to jump;
they are the dancers of the celestial sphere,
in the softest and most profound circus;
let them gallop on my skin,
divulge their emotions,
amuse themselves with my blood,
but someone should introduce them to me.
I want to know them closely,
I want to know what to rely on.”
Pain. agony. solitude. Memories scream.
Desperation. solitude. comfort. Constant flashbacks.
Deserted. Betrayed. loved. Third wheel.
Dark. twilight. moons. Ripped apart.
Clouds. blades. eyes. tongues meet.
Friendship. nemesis. clocks. again strangers.
Through happiness and woes. Comfort and agitation. We breathe.
Through emptiness and fulfillment. Through death and a new outset. We claim… Existence is elsewhere.
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